


fire and the thud

by GomonMikado



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GomonMikado/pseuds/GomonMikado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>thoughts for nights when chrollo lies in bed with a man who has tried to kill him twice<br/>(unfinished because I'm a lazy ass. also not rly porn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	fire and the thud

The flush of red. The sting of where flesh met flesh too brutally. Exaggerated movements, a show of grandeur.

Roughened fingertips trailing their way down his spine.

Soft breaths, hitching involuntarily.

Chrollo feels the cold, calloused hand run slowly down his bare back and he is so very aware of his vulnerability at the moment.

Meteor City has left its imprint on him, with its harsh conditions for survival and growth. He had thrived under the daily suffering, blessed with the charisma to bring together the strong and the dedication to push himself further by the day—but it also had honed every sense of his, keeping him constantly on alert in the presence of danger-

And certainly this situation now is not a prime example of safety, with him straddling an assassin with a barely concealed smirk on his face, half-clothed and with bruises on his chest lining the path of the older man’s mouth.

“Lucilfer. You make this seem like a fight,” Silva drawls, his stern expression barely affected despite the way the younger man expertly rocks and grinds his hips against the bulge in his pants. In contrast to Chrollo’s mused appearance, Silva is the epitome of stoicism, with the only indicator of their rather brutal play shown through the way his clothes have been loosened, revealing a vast expanse of skin underneath.  

“I would like to see you break form for once-“ he mutters as he rakes his hands over Silva’s chest. His nails leave no mark, he notes to his annoyance. He expects no less from a Zoldyck family member, what with their preternatural toughness, but the Troupe leader would have liked to see a bit of his handiwork etched upon Silva’s skin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flustered.”

“You surprise me plenty enough, rest assured.” Silva’s hand—a rough caress on Chrollo’s body—suddenly becomes steel. Silva’s nails are like knives and Chrollo lets out the faintest trace of a pained yelp as Silva slowly digs into his skin, leaving a raw trail of exposed flesh and blood to the cool air. Silva drags his fingers across Chrollo’s pale skin, smearing blood across his chest and face. “The way you seem to enjoy this, for example.”

The Troupe leader amusedly thinks that the way his own body arches away from the assassin’s touch, the way he throws his head back to reveal the arc of his neck are all such visceral reactions to the situation that he is in. Every part of his body feels the need to move, to _react_ to the pain in some way to make the hurt stop, but he himself feels detached from even the desperate signaling of his nerves. His lack of will is arguably a product of logic; there simply isn’t any means of fighting back in Silva’s private rooms, especially in his Nen-less state. Although Chrollo can boast of his own rather extraordinary reflexes and strength, without the additive power of Nen he has no way of bolstering his physical ability to outpace the other man’s-

Or so he says. The justifications roll smoothly off his tongue, well-practiced and almost believed. He has much time to reflect in his solitude—banished completely from the only company whose presence he cared to share, and he finds it difficult to avoid thinking about his own motivations for staying within the Zoldyck household. Playing with Silva in this way is certainly interesting- taxing on his body but a completely unique experience nonetheless. The deliberate pain that Silva inflicts upon on him almost pleasurable, in a way; he finds his boundaries pushed just a little further every day, and he reciprocates in kind, pushing back with his lack of care for how he is punished. A game, of sorts.

But even that isn’t enough of a reason to stay, Chrollo knows. Chrollo is no masochist, and for satisfying carnal desires he can find a multitude of volunteers- (an unwanted image of Hisoka quickly flashes through his mind; he grimaces.) He brushes the tips of his fingers against the bruises on the inside of his thighs and thinks that he’s refusing to acknowledge his own mortality. He has never feared death, he is intensely detached from the pleasure that he is going through, his mind is pure, lofty-

Untouched by the limitations of his own body.

And perhaps that’s the reason he stays with the Zoldyck. The strength of the other man reminds him to remain grounded- not to lose himself to ideals. Silva has flipped him over so Chrollo is sprawled underneath, and even as Silva’s mouth works at Chrollo’s throat, biting and leaving bruises Chrollo thinks that he is never more aware of his wishes and desires- the way he wishes to shape and change the world through the legacy of the Phantom Troupe.

He moans, heady and breathless and he bucks his hips up, seeking for some pressure and Silva finally frees Chrollo from the confines of his undergarments, sliding off the elastic and gently dragging his fingers up Chrollo’s inner thighs in a smooth, practiced motion. The coarseness of Silva’s skin contrasts with the silken feel of the sheets on his back, sending cool shivers down the back of his spine.

_Danger._

Silva is the feel of danger and Chrollo likes to tease the edges of his sharpened claws.

**Author's Note:**

> hi I don't want to study for finals lmao


End file.
